Page 11 of On the Brink of Passion

And people accuse guys of not being romantic. I think Jubilee’s got them all beat. She’s already started taking off the rest of her clothes, and while I can’t say I mind the view, because she’s a beautiful woman, I wouldn’t mind a little more teasing or sexiness or, I don’t know, fun. Her wanting me to want her. Her wanting me, period.

Since I know that’s not going to happen, I start my conjuring game again, making up a Jubilee who would be happy to have me as her lover, and not just resigned to allowing me to have intercourse with her—because hell, that’s what this is, it’s not making love, fucking, or even having sex, it’s as boring and clinical as she can make it. Which is still probably less boring than she’d like for it to be, what with all the dropped breadcrumbs of pleasure.

But my fantasy Jubilee? When we got back to the suite from all the stuff we had to do today, and I reached for her coat to hang up in the closet, I’d get a fistful of lacy bra instead, and she’d be standing there naked when I turned around. If it was humanly possible, my mouth would drop even further open, but instead of making fun of me, she’d just smile before closing the gap between us and resting her hands on either side of the placket of my shirt just before reaching for my buttons.

I didn’t like the way Sabrina was touching you earlier,she’d say, looking up at me through those dark lashes while her fingers deftly undid button after button.

I didn’t like it either.

She’d peel off my shirt, run her hands over my pecs, my abs, scratching lightly with her nails, hard enough to leave white trails that would disappear almost immediately in the wake of her touch. And then she’d be undoing my belt . . .

You’re mine now, Beckett. Mine. Sabrina didn’t know what she had but I do, and I’m never letting you go.Button and fly undone, she’d slide a hand into my shorts and give my hard dick a stroke and a squeeze.Don’t you forget it.

I’d tell her I wouldn’t, before I took her mouth in a kiss.

That’s the scenario that’s got me hard even as Jubilee is standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, looking bored.

“Can we move this along? I’m tired and we really should be in bed soon.”

Good thing dream Jubilee is far more enthusiastic, because IRL Jubilee is doing her best to ruin my hard-on.

“Fine, get on my bed.”

She struts over, plops down, and kicks her feet up. If things were different, she might almost look like she was waiting to be serviced. I could be down for playing like that sometimes. It would sure as hell be a lot more boner-inducing than knowing she’s merely waiting for this to be over. Guy can dream.

I try to keep fantasy Jubilee in my head while I take my clothes off—You’re mine, Beckett. Don’t you forget it—and that helps me stay hard. That and the fact that Jubilee is an incredibly attractive woman and she’s in my bed. This time, this time, she’s going to enjoy it. Whether she wants to or not.

Climbing onto the bed, I settle between her thighs, and lean forward, heading for a kiss, but she turns her head. That’s fine. I kiss the long column of her neck instead, sliding my fingers into her dark, soft hair as I do. Mostly it’s tied up for practice or shellacked into some functional but pretty updo for competitions, so I’ve never really been able to feel it before. Somehow I didn’t expect it to be soft—because nothing else about her is—but it is.

I keep kissing her, down to her collarbones and the crest of her shoulder. Jubilee shifts underneath me, and I can’t tell the tone of the squirm. Do squirms have tones? If I was with someone else, I might take that as a cue that this was giving them pants feelings, and they liked it. I should keep going. But with Jubilee, nothing’s a given.

There’s not so much on this earth that could stop me from sinking my teeth into her trapezius, and since as far as I know there’s no alien invasion or imminent nuclear apocalypse, I’m gonna go right ahead. She gasps, a quick and violent inhale that she smothers as soon as she can, but it doesn’t hide the shudder that runs from where I’ve released my gentle bite all the way down to her toes.

Just as suddenly as those signs that I was getting to her appear, they disappear.

“What are you doing?”

That wasn’t a direct order to stop, so I don’t. Nope. I let my lips and my teeth and my tongue coast over her shoulder, and to the underside of her collarbone, headed toward her small, gorgeous breasts.

“It’s called foreplay. You should try it sometime.”

The way she goes stiff as a board underneath me says I went too far.

“I know what foreplay is, and I’ve had plenty, thank you.” I can hear in my head how that must’ve sounded to her ears. Sure, insult the bedroom skills of the dead husband she adored.Way to go, Hughes.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” To make that very clear, I trail open-mouthed kisses down the valley between her breasts. “I just meant I’d like for you to enjoy yourself, that’s all.”

Even though it’s been left unsaid, Stephen’s name still hangs in the air.You’re a real shitface, Beck.

I could, and maybe should, call the whole thing off. Now that I’ve got my mouth on her skin though, and a hand curved around her waist, I don’t want to. And hell, it’s been four years. Jubilee deserves to have another man who will please her. I don’t know if she’s had the odd one night stand here or there, but she hasn’t dated anyone since we’ve been skating together, that I know for certain.

One-and-dones aren’t always bad, but there’s nothing like a person who knows your hot buttons and exploits them. Takes everything they’ve learned from the countless times you’ve gotten it on, and strings them together in a way that makes you lose your fucking mind. It’s so much better, why won’t she let me give that to her? I like to think I could, if she’d fucking let me.

“Why does it matter to you anyway?”

The question makes me stop mid-lick, and look up at her. She’s staring at the ceiling, and blinking way faster than normal.

“What?”

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